


Waitress Au

by slut_for_jan_and_trixya



Series: Musical Aus [1]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF, Waitress - Bareilles/Nelson
Genre: Angst, Baking, Cheating, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Love, Unhappy marriage, Varying Chapter Length, for real tho waitress is the bomb, i love gigi goode so much like it's unreal, i love trixya so much it's unreal too, ive made so many references, just the rambles of a musical theatre nerd, like a lot of baking, please go watch waitress, trixie is a cinnamon roll
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:33:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23853880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slut_for_jan_and_trixya/pseuds/slut_for_jan_and_trixya
Summary: This is a Waitress AuTrixie's life is good. There are bad days, there are good days. There are best friends, the best job ever and an abusive husband so the good and the bad balance each other out. She has enough for herself so she's good. She's okay.Updating every day or every other day. I tweaked a couple things in the plot, but the main points shouldn't change.  Please leave a comment or a kudos, it would mean a lot.
Relationships: Gigi Goode/Crystal Methyd, Kim Chi/Naomi Smalls, Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova
Series: Musical Aus [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1718974
Comments: 28
Kudos: 61





	1. What’s Inside

Baking. That’s all Trixie has known. Trixie’s saving grace. Trixie’s grounding stone. Since she was a child, recipes have flowed out of her naturally, organically, almost as if the recipe created her instead of vice versa. So every day she churns out pies and pies and pies, the routine implanted into her brain. Sugar. Butter. Flour. Water. Chill. Roll Out. Place in the mold. Fill. Cherry. Apple. Chocolate. Blueberry. Key Lime. Pecan. Inside them, she hides her secrets, her pain, her worries, and as they covered them with dough and plaits the edges, they fade away. All of it fades away and Trixie is in her own personal safe haven. She is baking. She is safe. No debts. No money worries. No husband. Just her and the kitchen. Alone. It’s quiet here. The sounds of rude customers and Earl are far away in the distance, unheard of and irrelevant. All that is relevant is the pie in front of Trixie right now. She studies it. She always studies the pies. Each is a work of art that Trixie has to craft as perfectly as possible, as precisely and as carefully. 

The pie she has chosen today is good old “Nothing Had Better Be Going To Shit Today” pie. A caramel peanut concoction with a butter cake and Swiss meringue layered filling topped with a sweet coffee Chantilly cream. It smells like heaven. Akin to rainy days mingling with perfume and sweat. Like her best friends’ stupid puns on a lazy afternoon where the girls could just take it easy, only serving their ever separated regulars and hear them lament about their days. Like Gigi’s nervous cackle when a cute customer who was likely a douchebag flirted with her. Like the calm, well-known vanilla scent of Kim’s chest when she pressed her tear-stained face into her motherly best friend’s chest in moments of distress. It smelled like the rare, but precious genuine smiles that Earl would flash her on his good days that reminded her that she still loved him. Right? She still loved him, right? Trixie doesn’t know anymore. She doesn’t know anything anymore. Well except for pies. She will always have pies. So she goes back to her pie. This pie that smells like family, like love. She focuses on squirting the cream in a floral manner on top of the pie and arranges the caramel pieces in a methodical, spiral pattern following the edges of the cream to the top. Follow the cream, Trixie. Follow the cream and all will be clear. 

The last time Trixie used a recipe was 20 years ago, the very first time she had baked a pie. Ever since the recipe has come from Trixie’s mind, a creation born from whatever emotion she felt that day. Happy. Sad. Grumpy. Scared. However she felt, the pie reflected it. She buries her emotions underneath pastry day after day after day, she lays out her heart on a plate and serves it to unknowing customers who leave with a satisfied stomach and a formerly unpresent feeling of satisfaction. She gives them her life. Her pain, her joy, her triumphs, her sorrows. She gives them her everything. And they will never know it. Because they give her just as much. They give her an escape. They give her a chance to create without Earl’s chastising voice. They give her a chance to remember the woman that provided her with this gateway. They give her a chance to be her. 

Ding! Ding! Ding!

The familiar sound of the diner’s manager slamming down on the bell impatient for the pies to arrive on their customer’s tables rings across the kitchen. Trixie looks down at her watch. 7:00 am. About time to open up. She smiles. A real genuine smile because she loves this job more than she loves life. Time to get to work and make a mess.


	2. Opening Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last chapter: Trixie Mattel defines baking  
> This Chapter: Trixie Mattel's co-workers define unprofessionalism

\

A plump, Asian woman donning the standard periwinkle uniform with bright matching makeup and deep inquisitive eyes enters the diner. Her hair is slightly frizzy from the damp humidity of spring but her delicately applied cosmetics remain unscathed. Trixie, a lover of bold makeup herself, has always admired the artistry that Kim paints on her face. Kim always looks freshly painted by the most talented artist, a walking painting. She glides through the diner on surprisingly tiny heels (she’s a size three), offering customers pie in her soothing voice that is always ready to, as she describes “cut a bitch someone tries to get handsy.” Despite being only five years older than Trixie, the woman has been the only maternal figure in Trixie’s life since her mother died, though Kim is more of a coarse yet gentle fashion model auntie.

“Trixie, how are you holding up?” The heavy lisp in her voice shining brightly through.

“Eh, I’ve been worse. I just finished today’s pie.”

“Good old’ No Shit Better Be Coming My Way Today pie?”

“Yup, a family favorite.”

“Nice.” Kim laughs and the sound echoes across the room.

“Speaking of nice, where did you get that lip shade?”

“Oh it’s discontinued I’m afraid. I got it 10 years ago in cosmetology school.” A remorseful smile crosses her face as she reminisces of her youth. She laughs and shrugs off her self-pity as Kim always does.

“Oh but lord knows this place would burn down without me.” Trixie frowns at her statement.

“What with you and Naomi and Gigi? Oh lord.” Kim laughs again, the tone in the air lightening already.

Sometimes Trixie feels guilty as she feels that Kim’s love for her is what keeps her at this diner instead of pursuing a career as a makeup artist. But then she reminds herself of Kim’s husband. Her poor, bedridden, vegetable of a husband who barely speaks a word let alone offers the love that Kim deserves. Still, she attends to him. Changes his diapers, wipes away his drool, works away tirelessly to afford her stacks and stacks of medical bills. Kim is a good person. A loving wife. The person whom Trixie wishes she was.

“How’s Bob?”

“Still shitting his diapers. His turds kind of look like question marks.”

“What the fuck, Kim. I don’t wanna know what your husband’s shits look like!”

“Then don’t fucking ask me.”

The two burst into laughter as Naomi, the head chef and manager of the diner once again slams down on the call bell impatiently.

“Get your ass out there, or you’re fucking fired!”

“Fire me if you dare, jackass,” Kim says in deadpan as Trixie lets out a manic scream that could be interpreted as a laugh.

“I will if you could just, GET YOUR ASS ON THE FLOOR, KIM.”

“SHOVE A TAMPON UP YOUR ASS, NAOMI. MIGHT CHILL YOU THE FUCK OUT.”

Trixie continues to laugh as she heads out to the main area of the diner and begins to serve the milkshakes, coffee and pies that customers love to order. Immersed in her job, she barely noticed the tall, lanky girl that had entered the diner.

“GIGI YOU’RE LATE.”

“Sorry, Naomi. We make this garment for a customer, it was a satin-“

“I don’t give a shit, start serving these sloppy joes. Now.”

The timid girl nods frantically as she begins to serve out the plates to customers who very obviously eyes her ass when she walks away. What they do not know is that should they look once more, Kim and Trixie will pour coffee into their eyeballs. Gigi, only twenty-five years old, is like their collective daughter. Well, more of a sister for Trixie but should anyone mess with her, Trixie will be the first to knee them where the sun don’t shine. Gigi, a talented seamstress, works at her mother’s tailor and is the only one out of the four people who work at the diner who actually has a uniform that fits her properly. Now, Trixie and Kim are the last people on earth to deny the young girl the pleasure of creating a garment that fit her body for the sole purpose of satisfying the patriarchy, so there are many times they have had to throw out customers due to sex-starved men trying to grope her. The poor innocent girl normally had no idea and continued to sway her hips as men and women alike watched her. So timid, so shy, yet so full of untapped potential. Possibly one of the most gorgeous women Trixie had ever seen, Gigi was completely unaware of her own beauty and proceeded to act shy around boys and girls alike as she attracted both.

“Hi y’all, sorry I’m late,” Gigi says, brushing away a couple of droplets of sweat from her face.

“Oh don’t worry about it, just start handing out them pies. It’s a standard morning.”

“What do you think of the rhinestones I added at the bottom?”

Gigi hesitantly twirled as Kim whistled and Trixie pulled a thumbs up. Gigi blushed. She had so much talent in the seamstress area, producing dresses and pantsuit to rival Givenchy and Marc Jacobs. A shy creature of fashion, the ultimate curse. So beautiful, so seamless yet so damn bashful. But Gigi deserved so much better than this town. She deserved the best Parisian fashion schools. She deserved to be sewing dresses for the elite. She deserved not to be stuck in a dreary town with dreary people who did not understand the inherent genius of her work. But luckily for Trixie and Kim, whose hearts would break in half if Gigi ever left the diner, Gigi didn’t want that. She wanted to work locally, waitress locally, and be a local girl. She wanted humble endings like her humble beginning and she did not chase the potential stardom life had blessed her with. So if it meant scaring away horny teenage boys, Trixie and Kim would do exactly that.

“Trixie, get your head of the clouds. Sharon’s calling for you!”

Sharon, the official owner of the diner sat at her usual booth reading the newspaper that she read each morning for the past seven years. fifteen years, huh. Trixie had really been working at this diner for fifteen years.

“What’s on the menu, doll?” Sharon asked, her usual smoke-laden drawl slow and raspy.

“The menu’s right there, Sharon.”

“Yes, but why would I read it when you could just tell me whether or not you’ve got the Strawberry Chocolate Oasis Pie?”

“Again?”

“Yes again.”

“This is the tenth day in the row, you sure you don’t want a change of scenery?”

“You oughta make that a regular, Trixie. It’s a fucking work of art.”

“Aw, you’re bluffing.”

“No Trixie, he’s being nice,” Kim yells from across the room and Sharon laughs.

“You and Lasky. Ask Jesus, I’m only nice to the two of y'all.” Trixie laughs and her lashes begin to flutter. Sharon’s face begins to blur as a soaring pain burns in the center of her forehead. She staggers backward as Gigi runs towards her, catching her in her lanky arms. All their panicked voices blurring into one and everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment if you loved it. Leave a comment if you hated it. Please just leave a darn comment


	3. The Negative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Meeting Trixie Mattel and Co  
> This Chapter: Trixie Mattel and The Toilet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you know waitress. Each chapter is based off one of the songs from the musical. You can listen to the songs if you want to, sorta get a vibe.

“Trixie! Trixie! Wake up, god dammit!”

Trixie blinks hazily as the world begins to piece itself together again. She looks up and sees Gigi, half patting, half slapping her face, a worried expression painted on her face. Her perfectly drawn eyebrows are pressed into a furrowed expression as she frantically tries to awaken Trixie from her a dazed daydream. Customers have gathered to see the commotion, with Kim and Naomi shooing them away whilst continuing to bicker with one another. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Sharon sitting at her counter with a suspicious look on her face that Trixie isn’t fond of.

“Trixie, oh my god you’re awake. Thank you, Jesus!”

“Wha-what?” Trixie tries to stand but immediately ends up fumbling downwards.

“Shhh, don’t try to stand up,” Kim says, a worried but knowing expression painted on her face. “Just try to sit up for now. And drink this water.”

Kim presses the glass to Trixie’s lips and she gulps desperately, the cool fluid calming the headache that had returned. Water. Her mama always said that water worked better than most medicines. She swore by the art of hydration and even at her deathbed a glass of water lay by her nightstand. Why is she thinking about her mama right now? Trixie shrugs and with the help of Gigi, begins to stand up.

“Woah, girl. You sure you wanna get up?”

“Yeah. I’ll be- “Trixie is cut off by the sudden wave of nausea that hits her and she clutches her hand over her mouth. “Okay never mind, I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Yeah, you go ahead, Trixie.” Naomi grunts as she grumbles to herself about the state of women’s healthcare in the country. “Gigi. Kim. Go help her out.”

“You ain’t gotta tell me twice.” Kim bites back, resisting the urge to stick her tongue out.

The trio of women lift Trixie up into their arms, Mahatma Gandhi style just about reaching one of the stalls before Trixie projectile vomits into it. Kim once again shares a knowing look on her face with Gigi as they rub Trixie’s back. There are too many knowing looks for so early in the morning. Trixie doesn’t like this. She hasn’t vomited this damn much since her 25th birthday party. It feels like her organs are coming out of her body as an alarmingly quick rate. Maybe that’s what she’ll call her next pie. “Here Are My Organs Cos Lord Knows They Ain’t Inside My Body Today” Pie. Sounds about right. God, Trixie hates vomiting. It’s disgusting. It’s repellent. It’s wasting good pie. She hates wasting pie. And damn does vomiting feel like it. A waste of good pie. Not that any pie is bad. That’s why she hates vomiting so much. She hates it so damn much.

“You alright, honey?” Gigi calls hesitantly.

“Yeah, I think I done threw up just about everything but my stomach.”

“Oof.”

“Yeah.”

“I found it!” Kim’s far away voice gets closer as she waves a box in her hands.

“Kim…Wtf the fuck is that.”

“Oh, it’s my Dora the explorer pregnancy test.”

“Why is it Dora the explorer?”

“It’s all the pharmacy had okay? Now, hush.”

“I’m not pregnant, Kim. I haven’t had my action in ages and my per-“

“Yeah.”

“Shit.”

“Take the test. Gigi, read out the instructions on the box.”

“No inserte la el palo de texto en su vagina, por favor.”

“English, my love.”

“Do not insert the stick into your vagina, please.”

“Thank you, Gigi.” They both say in the same tone of deadpan.

Hesitantly, Trixie goes into the stall and pees on the damn stick. She’s peeing into Dora’s face. That is unsettling. The creator of this branch needs to stop his work. For moral, ethical, and spiritual reasons.

“Okay.”

“Now we wait,” Gigi says as she presses a kiss to Trixie’s forehead.

“I’m so fucked.”

"Oh don't say that, Trixie."

"I shouldn't have slept with the bastard."

"Amen, sister." Kim echoes with a wheezing laugh "Listen, knowing what we know, it's probably negative."

"Yeah."Trixie says hopefully. 

“Hey what’s the worse that could happen?”

“I’m pregnant with quadruplets.”

“What’s the best that could happen,” Gigi says starry-eyed. “A baby.”

“The best thing,” Kim says in a pointed tone towards Trixie “would be a baby.”

Trixie shakes her head.

“Oh come on, you’ve wanted a baby forever.”

“But not a baby with Earl.”

Trixie presses her hand to her eyes. How could she have been so careless? Of course, this is what she gets for sleeping with her husband like a normal wife. Ugh. Earl had never been a good lover. Or a normal lover. Bad at sex. That’s what he was. He always lay there, akin to a panting dog as he rutted inside her, and Trixie had to pretend she was interesting whilst resisting to urge to gag. She only ever could take it when she was drunk. And that’s what she had been a couple of weeks ago. Drunk. She had consumed that bottle in a matter of seconds when Earl showed up, hair slimed back, a predatory smile slapped onto his face and Trixie knew it was either another fight or a fucking so she chugged that there was no tomorrow. Stupid date nights. She hates them. She hates them so much. She used to love them. Loved being the pretty girl with pretty hair in a pretty dress by Earl’s side. That’s all she was good at, really. Being pretty. So that’s what she did. Trixie’s still young. But life has aged her. It has aged her a lot. It’s aged her to the point where the idea of a cheap dinner and then a pounding repulses her and she can only stand it after enough alcohol to make someone drunk from kissing her. But she’s not pregnant. She isn’t. She can’t be. Not after what Dr. Herman told her years ago after one night Earl had gotten particularly angry with her and she had limped to the ER the next morning. Not after all the times, he had screamed at her for her messed up ovaries. Not after all the nights where she had clutched pictures of her mother to her chest and grieved for the motherhood that had been stolen for her.

Of course, Trixie wanted a baby. She had always wanted to be a mother. Girl or boy, she had wanted a spirit to mold and to raise and to take adorable first day of school pictures of. She had wanted to wipe away baby formula from a little boy’s cheeks. To buy little pink dresses for a daughter who would twirl around the room singing along to Dolly Parton songs with her. She had wanted to have someone, anybody, to love the way her mother loved her. She had wanted to give her mind and her body and her soul unconditionally to a child. She had wanted to be a mother so badly. But Trixie did not want Earl to be a father.

Earl, who beat her near bloody once a month. Earl, who hurled insults at her like it was nothing. Earl, who screamed and shouted and threw tantrums like a child when his “talents” were neglected at work. Earl, who could never man up enough to be a proper husband, let alone a father. Earl, who had never loved anyone the way he loved himself. Earl, who reminded Trixie far, far too much of her own father. She remembered how her mother had suffered at her father’s hand. How her life had been torn up by her love for this monster who screamed deathly things at both of them when he smashed bottles upon bottles on vodka on the floor. Earl was the same. Except for with him, it was whiskey. Dark, strong whiskey that he chugged nightly. She couldn’t let a baby be raised by this man.

So despite everything. Despite every maternal instinct in her body that screamed out at her mind. She did not want a baby. She could not have a baby.

“Trixie?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s positive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed.


	4. What Baking can do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Trixie Mattel does not shove a pregnancy test up her vagina.  
> This chapter: Trixie Mattel does not have a good husband.

“Trixie?” Kim asks hesitantly. “Trixie, please say something.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Yes you are, honey.” Gigi says with tears in her eyes and emotions choking her words. “You’re pregnant.”

“I’m gonna be a mama.” Trixie gasps with disbelief. “I’m gonna be a mama!”

“You’re gonna be a mama!” Gigi screams and Kim has to wipe away a spare tear from her eye as they envelop Trixie into a tight hug and Trixie begins to cry.

She’s pregnant. Trixie is pregnant. There is a baby inside of Trixie. There is a baby feeding off of her nutrients, growing stronger day by day in her stomach. There is a life in her body. Trixie has created a life. Oh my god. Oh my god. There is a life inside her right now. A girl who will grow to love baking like her mama or a boy who will grow to love another like his papa, either way, Trixie has created a life. A soul with will prosper and thrive. A soul that will break this chain of unhappiness that started many generations ago with her grandmother. She’s going to be a mother. She’s going to be their food source, their means of survival. She is going to be their everything, all that they have. She’s going to the person they come running to the tell every little part of there day. She’s going to be the woman who kisses the tears away when her son falls on the ground after playing a little too hard with his friends. She’s going to be there cradling her daughter when some idiot boy breaks her heart for the first time, soothing away the pains of young love. She’s going to teach them everything her mama taught her. How to make the perfect dessert at a moment's hand. How to kneed sugar, flour, and butter together into a miraculous dough when the going got tough. How to create a gateway when life simply hurts them too much. How to bake with love and creativity each time. How to pour their soul out onto a plate and serve it, hoping the emotions translate. How to hide their every loss, every desolation into a little bite.

But Trixie will make sure they won’t have any losses. Their life will be filled with nothing but love, laughter, happiness, and a mother’s warm embrace. Their mama is going to fight for them the way that Trixie’s never did. Lord knows, Trixie loved her mother. Her mother had tried, she really had. But Trixie will try harder. Trixie will be the mama that she wished she had growing up. She will be the mama that doesn’t show up to work covered in bruises. The mama who doesn’t have to work two jobs at a time just to get a hot meal on the table. A mother who will do nothing but lavish love and affection upon them because that is what Trixie’s baby deserves. They deserve to be disciplined, spoiled, and ever in between. They deserve a life of gods and princes, of jewel and thrones. Not a slow, small-town life that killed so many bright and burning souls. But Trixie will do her best. Instead of topazes and golden jewelry, she will bake them pies with golden brown crusts. Instead of endless money and debit cards, she will make them rich in flavor instead. She will try. She will make ends meet. She will do everything for them. She will give them everything she has. She will give this baby her life, the one thing that is still her own. Though it isn’t really much of a life anymore. She will be the best mother that she can be. But, their father…

Earl.

The man who screams obscenities at Trixie every night like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The man who smashes dishes and mugs when Trixie is not the most pristine, 1940s

housewife. The man who Trixie isn’t so sure she loves anymore. The man who reminds her far too much of her own father is about to be a daddy to her children. He will be the face they think of when the word “father” is taught to them at school. He and his alcoholic breath. His harsh mouth. His harsher words. His even harsher hands. He will be their daddy. And Trixie doesn’t know how to answer the question her mind has formed.

“Whatcha thinking about, my love?” Kim says, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Cos you’re thinking so loud that I can hear it from a mile away.”

“I want this baby. I want it so badly. But…”

“But what?” Gigi cups Trixie’s face in her slender, petit hands.

“But Earl.”

There is a collective sigh across the group. Earl. Even on days when Trixie and Kim are fighting. Even when Gigi hates her life and hates her job at the diner. Even when the three of them despise the look of each other’s face, they have one forever bonding aspect.

Earl.

“Trixie-“

“Kim, don’t.”

“Please. Please just consider it. If not for you, for this baby.”

“He would never let me.”

“It’s not about him.”

“I don’t have the money for a lawyer or for a divorce.”

“I’ll lend you money, or we’ll save up your tips. I’ll-“

“Kim, I love you but I can’t leave him.”

“Why?”

“Because PROMISES. Because I made a promise when I was 20 and it’s been a long while but it’s a promise that I have to keep.”

“Even when he beats you to a pulp?”

“Kim-“

“Even when he screams into your face and I can taste the damn tears in the pie?”

“Please don’t-“

“Even when he takes what he thinks he deserves and I can see that it hurts you, and you know I’m not talking about the damn tips.”

There is a moment of silence. Kim has never said what goes unspoken between them before. She knows that Earl violates her. She knows. Oh my god, she knows. Trixie bursts into tears and shoves her head in her hands. She’s right. Trixie is pathetic. She can’t leave her husband because she is bound by a promise that she made before she even knew what that promise meant. She is bound to this man that makes her life a living horror story, even to a Stephen King fanatic. She can’t move. Not even for this baby. Trixie begins to sob and Kim takes her up in her arms once more.

“Trixie, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I know. I know.”

“I’m sorry I assumed, I- “

“You didn’t upset me because you were wrong, you upset me because you were right.”

Trixie stays like that for another couple minutes, clutching the unborn baby in her stomach, whose presence complicates everything she has ever known.

“Trixie, you have got to leave him.” Gigi says. This takes both Kim and Trixie by surprise. It has always been Kim protesting their marriage and Gigi rarely notices the bruises on Trixie or the blood shot stains in her eyes from crying. Or maybe she did. Maybe that’s why she’s saying this.

“Gigi-“

“Ladies?” It’s Naomi. She’s wearing an irritated expression.

“Yes, dickhead?”

“I’d hate to break up this tender moment, but Earl is here.”

There is a collective groan, even Naomi grunts disapprovingly.

“Trixie?” A gruff, smoker laden voice fills the diner and sends a chill running down Trixie’s spine. “Where the fuck are you?”

“Coming, Earl!” Trixie wipes her eyes frantically and runs out to diner, eager to avoid her husband’s wrath. Kim and Gigi follow gingerly, their previous argument forgotten in favor of Trixie’s well being. Earl came to pick up Trixie’s tips every day, sometimes early, sometimes late, he never failed to show. Curious how he chose to take money from his wife during work hours instead of work. He always wore the same thing. A flannel hunting jacket with a greasy tank top and jeans that looked as though they hadn’t been washed in eons. In his eyes, the same disdainful, prejudice look that implied that he thought himself above all the staff at the diner. Including Trixie. Especially Trixie.

“Tips?” He snarls and Trixie visibly winces as she hands over a small pile of cash into his massive palm, the contrast of their hand sizes becomes alarming as he forcibly grabs her by the wrists with bruising force.

“Why so few?”

“She fainted today,” Naomi says, her disapproval evident through her tone.

“Fainted?”

“Yeah, I fainted. I’m sorry I couldn’t get more tips, it must’ve been something I ate last night.”

“Maybe it was your pies. They’ve been getting pretty bad, lately.”

“In high school, you used to say my pies were so good, I could own my own shop,” Trixie says, the hurt leaking through her tone. If there is one speck of pride that Trixie has left, it is that her pies are good. She knows she is good. And no matter how many times Earl tells her, she refuses to say that hundreds of people flood the diner to scarf down on pies that are “shit.”

“I was only saying to that to get a piece of this.” Earl aggressively grabs Trixie’s ass with a predatory smile written across his face as he licks his lips. He opens his mouth to make yet another uncouth comment but before he can catcall her again in this very public environment, Sharon interrupts him.

“One strawberry chocolate oasis pie, please. And these people here are paying a good twenty dollars to eat your wife’s pie.”

“Well when you have the same damn reheated pecan pie six times a week, IT STARTS TO TASTE PRETTY SHIT!” His voice raises and several customers have noticed the scene as he begins to march towards Sharon but Trixie stops him by gently leaving a palm on his chest.

“Earl-“

“She’s disrespecting me!”

“She’s also my boss, Earl.”

“I don’t care.”

“Earl, we need this job. Please.” Earl recedes, directing his hatred towards Trixie instead

“Are you disrespecting me too?”

“No, Earl I-“

“Forget it. Just be home by 8:00. No shenanigans.”

He leaves the diner with a slam that causes Trixie to jump. She stands there for a couple of minutes. Just shaking. Then, Sharon walks beside her and presses a milky-white, comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Strawberry oasis?”

“You got it, Sharon.”

Trixie is pregnant with a baby that man put in her.

She is pregnant with a child. A wondrous, miracle of life.

But this man is the father.


	5. Club Knocked Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lasy chapter: Earl is a real fucking bitch  
> This Chapter: Jennifer is a real fucking bitch

A week passes and Kim finally tracks down a gynecologist that Trixie will see. Trixie will only see doctors with at least 5 years of experience since her mother died at the hands of inexperienced interns. She will only go to the James-Charles clinic since it is the only one she has ever been to. And she will not see anyone who does not specialize in woman, meaning a woman; since a male doctor once asked her if her the evident bruises that lay scattered across her abdomen were caused by her period.

Trixie is picky with doctors. She has only ever lived one. Dr. Jujubee, a stout Asian woman with a strong sense of humor has known Trixie all her life. She was the woman who delivered Trixie but has since left her wife and moved to California. Her wife, Raven is still a midwife at the James-Charles clinic. Trixie never knew her too well, but her heart cannot help but twinge when she sees her at the diner sometimes. Lonely and pale. She used to sit and eat her coconut cream pie with one of the part-time cooks who has since left the diner. Raja. She’s a designer now, works with Gigi’s mother. Raja is a good woman, honey-colored skin with flowing gray hair that she displayed proudly. Arms, sleeved with tattoos and sun-kissed. Eyes, golden and intuitive. The kind of person who you don’t expect to see living a small-town life. But there she is, none the less, words written in Japanese riding up along her biceps while she helps the Goode family piece together garments worthy of princesses.

An annoyed woman dressed in gym wear and a full face of makeup breaks her train of thought. Next to her is a timid young boy who hides behind her statuesque figure out of fear. From his mother or from Trixie? She can’t tell.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes?”

“You’re sitting in my son’s seat.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It should say on the back? Christopher’s chair?”

Trixie turns her body to glance at the chair. And there, sure enough, in an obnoxiously cutesie font, is written “Christopher’s chair”. And as she shifts her body onto another chair, the woman points a fake, saccharine smile in her direction. Women like this are what she is afraid she has become. Fake, smiling, hollow. She is scared that she is pushing away Kim and Gigi every time they try to pull her away from her train wreck of a marriage. She is scared that after every fight, Earl takes away a little more of her faith in humanity. She is scared that this is what she will become. An empty shell of a smiling mother who’s only humanity left was implanted into a child.

“I’m Jennifer.” She introduces herself with far too much self-importance a woman wearing a warm earthy toned lipstick, the wrong shade of foundation, and glittery purple eye shadow should have. Ugh, so many crimes against makeup all on such a tiny face.

“Cool, I’m Trixie.”

“Trixie.” Jennifer tests the sound of the name on her lips only to find that she doesn’t like it. “Like a dog?”

“So how far along are you?” She asks in the same disgustingly sweet tone as if Trixie is a kindergartner who doesn’t understand basic vocabulary. It borders along insulting but Trixie assumes that it is simply because she is used to her son.

“Just a couple of weeks, I only found out last Tuesday.”

“By the looks of you, I would’ve guessed much longer!” Jennifer lets out a hideous braying laugh as an attempt to cover up her rudeness. It doesn’t work. Trixie joins in feebly and the laughing dies when the boy, Christopher; picks up Trixie’s hand and begins to play with it. Trixie smiles. This child, this beautiful sentient creature has taken a liking to her. He strokes her hand and his mother begins to frantically text on her phone, grateful that her child is occupied.

“What’s your name?” She asks him, eager to converse with the child. It’s good practice for the future.

“Carmen.” Jennifer groans as she takes his hand and hits it with a surprising force. He winces but Trixie can tell that he’s used to it.

“His name is Christopher Ramon Carrera but his ever since he told his sister he wanted to change his name and she started suggesting girl names, that’s all he’s been calling himself. His father has been rolling along with it, but I for one refuse to have a son who calls himself girl names.” Luckily, her phone begins to ring and Jennifer lets out a sigh of frustration before storming off to answer the call.

Trixie smiles sadly. She understands this child. They stare into the eyes of one another in the way that kindred spirits do. Trixie has always been different. She knows she is different. She knows there is a reason she has kissed so many girls beneath the bleachers in high school under the spirit of “experimentation.” She knows that there is a reason that chiseled abs and round breasts have the same appeal to her. She knows that there is a reason that one night with a woman much older than her at the backseat of her car has been more fulfilling than her entire marriage with Earl. Her roughed cheeks, her hand between Trixie’s thighs, the scent of womanhood that Trixie will never forget. But she knows that she loves men too. That’s for sure. Because she remembers loving Earl. She remembers being dresses in that maroon cheerleader uniform with his handers, calloused against her face and she remembers the warmth that filled her chest when he told her that she was beautiful. She remembers love. She just doesn’t feel it anymore.

“Carmen?” Trixie says quietly just out of reach from his mother’s voice. Her heart blooms as their little face perks up.

“Yeah?”

“I’m Trixie.”

“That’s a pretty name, miss.”

“Carmen is a pretty name too. You sound like a movie star.” They blush and a warm feeling spreads across Trixie’s chest. A feeling she hasn’t felt in a while. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Okay.”

“Are you a little boy?” They bite their lips, suddenly nervous as they look for their mother. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell your mama.”

“I’m not a little boy.”

“Are you a little girl.”

“Shh. Don’t tell anyone.”

“It can be our secret.” Carmen smiles, her pearly whites showing off the gap in the front of her teeth. It quickly fades when her mother returns.

"ACT LIKE A WHORE, GET TREAT LIKE ONE, ZOE. Christopher? You weren’t bothering Trixie where you?” She visibly gags when she says Trixie’s name, to which Trixie cannot help but feel a second-hand offense. She likes her name, she always has. It’s light, fluffy, girly. Encapsulating her as a person perfectly.

“Mattel, Beatrice.” A man calls and Trixie flashes a smile to Carmen before she gets up to leave.

“Bye, Trixie,” Carmen says, once again lighting up the room. Carmen or Christopher. She takes a moment. A moment to contemplate which name to use. “Christopher” will crush her heart and “Carmen” is who she is. But “Carmen” will get her a beating and “Christopher” means no bruises tonight. Trixie understands, she really does.

“Bye-bye, my love.” And she walks away with a heavy heart hoping the world will be kinder to this little girl than it was to her.


	6. Pomatter Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Chapter: Trixie is tired of Jennifer  
> This Chapter: Katya is tired of how hot Trixie is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment your favorite Waitress song if you know them. And If you don't then I highly recommend listening to the album. My favorite is "Take it From an Old Man." Not a popular option but it FUCKING SLAPS.

Trixie’s POV

“Oh my god.” That’s Trixie’s first thought. “It’s so fucking green.” The walls of the examination room that once used to be a soft cotton candy pink are now the color that depressed primary teachers use on whiteboards. It’s hideous and Trixie takes a moment to grieve for the renovations that have happened. It feels so inherently wrong. For a room that was once colorful without being overwhelming to be abruptly switched to such a brash, unforgiving highlighter shade been so wrong. Tears start to pool in Trixie’s eyes once again affirming that she is pregnant. She laughs at herself through choked sobs. Crying at the color of walls, she is definitely pregnant.

“Ms. Mattel?” A raspy voice calls for her name. It’s intriguing. Not because it’s raspy. Many folks around here eat cigarettes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But because there is a tenderness to it. A concern, an already unconditional love that floods the room is present. This voice belongs to a person of kindness, of poise, and most importantly, love. The person that this voice belongs to is loving. They are compassionate. They make Trixie want to put a face to the sound.

Trixie turns around and standing at the opening of the door is a woman with choppy shoulder-length hair with bangs that look like they were cut by a toddler with their eyes close but somehow she makes them work. Her eyes are a piercing combination of green and grey swirling together to create a curious unity. Her clothing is an odd mashup between nightlife and work attire, a sheer red blouse with pants that appear to have sponge bob’s face patterned on them. But somehow, in a manner that Trixie cannot even begin to comprehend. She makes it work for her. Her makeup is surprisingly bold, with lustrous lashes that curl innocently and then a dark application of smoky liner finished with the reddest lip Trixie has ever seen to compliment the whitest teeth that Trixie has ever seen. She’s a refreshing change from Jennifer, who’s attempt at contour makes Trixie’s morning sickness far, far worse. Something about this woman is macabre yet new. She is something that Trixie wants to marvel at, spend time taking it. She is not something that you look at without a second thought. She requires attention, care, and studying.

Trixie is enthralled by this curious specimen and the feeling that is suddenly burning in her chest. She chooses to ignore it though. Ignore feelings has always worked in her favor. Not ignoring them, on the contrary, has not. Take a look at her marriage.

“Dr. Zamolodchikova.”

“Wow.” Dr. Zamolodchikova let out a slight gasp.

“What?”

“You said my name right,” She smiles again, her teeth gleaming almost too perfectly in her mouth. “It’s the first time I’ve heard my name said right in months.”

“Well, it ain't that hard.” Trixie shrugs and Dr. Zamolodchikova blushes. 

“You’d be surprised. This middle-aged lady called Patricia once called me Dr. Zebra with full seriousness.” Trixie lets out a laugh. She’s funny.

“What kind of woman spells zebra that way?”

“She had a stapler stuck in her vagina.”

“That sounds about right.” They laugh together for a couple of minutes. No one’s made her laugh like this in a while. It feels light, refreshing almost. Refreshing is the word that keeps coming up to her mind to describe this doctor. A breath of fresh air from the toxins of her life. A break. Something she needs.

“But call me Katya.”

“What’s your full name?”

“Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova.”

“That’s pretty.” Katya blushes. It’s true. It’s a pretty name, remarkable. Worthy of a remarkable woman.

“Thank you.” They sit like that for a couple of minutes staring into the eyes of one another like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Maybe it is. All she wants to do is stare into Katya’s eyes and study them until she dies. Because she deserves to be studied. Anybody that can make Trixie’s heart soar at the sound of their laughter deserves to be studied. Not because something is wrong with Trixie, but because there is something different about her. Something that not many people in this world have left. It’s really, really fascinating and all Trixie wants to do is stay there and watch the patch of pink on her cheeks grow but Katya clears her throat.

“So what are you in for, Ms. Mattel?”

“Trixie.”

“You have a Trixie?”

“No, my name is Trixie.” She giggles and Katya slaps herself on the forehead.

“Of course your name is Trixie.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Oh nothing, it’s just soft and billowy and pink.” Katya blushes once again and clears her throat.

Katya’s POV

Katya is fucked. She is so, so, so damn fucked. This living imitation of a Barbie who can actually say her last name has walked into her clinic. Yes, thank you, Jesus. Thank you very much. Her clothes are curious, dressed like that one Barbie from the eighties with equally extravagant but beautiful makeup, she looks like a replica of every doll that Katya kissed when she was little and unsure what that meant. Her lashes as looooong. They are so looooong. How does a woman look so soft with lashes the length of a small can of mints? How does she even see in them? How is she so beautiful without looking like a mammoth and- and why is she thinking about her patient’s lashes?! She should be thinking about the case, how best to help this woman the way she deserves to be helped. But all Katya wants to do is stare at the curve of her hips, the wrinkles near her eyes, and the slight crookedness of her nose. And her lashes. She loves those lashes.

Trixie tilts her head and Katya gulps as her dress dips just a little bit lower. Katya mentally slaps herself. She should not be sexualizing this beautiful, unintentionally sensual woman. And she’s beautiful. She’s so beautiful. She takes Katya’s breath away in a way that it hasn’t been taken in a long time. There is something about her. Something that makes Katya want to whisper sweet nothings into her ear and press her lips close to the base of her neck and bask in the noises that are drawn out of her mouth. But it’s not lust. Well, maybe there is a little bit of lust, but lust doesn’t make her want to learn Trixie’s favorites foods. Lust doesn’t make her want to learn Trixie’s middle name. Lust doesn’t spark that fiery feeling in the base of her stomach. No. This is something she’s felt before. Something familiar. Something that Katya can’t point out.

“Katya?” Trixie asks and Katya mentally slaps herself. Focus on the patient, goddamit. Well, technically she is. She really wants to focus on in between the patient’s thigh and- FOCUS, KATYA. YOU HAVE A WIFE.

“Yes?”

“You were saying?”

“So sorry, Trixie. What are you in here for today?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Oh. Well, there goes Katya’s fantasies. Oh well, lusting after a patient has never gone well for her. But then again, this isn’t just lusting and Katya can’t help but feel disappointed as Trixie tells her about her life.

“I think I’m about a couple weeks along. I just found out last Tuesday.”

“Congratulations.”

“Please don’t say that,” Trixie says, hurt lacing her voice. Katya furrows her brow. Someone has hurt this woman before. Someone has made her feel unwanted, unworthy and the opposite of everything that Katya sees her as. And something about that doesn’t sit right with Katya. She has treated countless abuse victims but something about Trixie feels different. Like if there is one thing right about the world, it won’t hurt Trixie.

“Oh?”

“I mean I’m keeping it, I’m not here for an abortion. But I’m just not too thrilled about it.”

“Why is that?” Trixie bites her lip, unsure whether or not to continue. “You can trust me. I’m bound by law not to disclose anything about my cases.”

“You told me about staple vagina lady.”

“She was a test patient in med school, it doesn’t count.” This makes Trixie laugh. God, that laugh. The kind of laugh you wouldn’t expect from a woman as dainty as her. It sounds like a rare crossbreed between a foghorn and cow giving birth and Katya is intoxicated. She wants to make Trixie laugh until she can’t speak anymore. She wants to make Trixie augh away all the pain that life has very clearly caused her and she wants for life to be okay again. Because that’s what Trixie deserves. Katya has known this woman for twenty minutes and she already knows that this is what Trixie deserves. A lifetime of laughter and a lifetime of joy.

“Well?”

“I have always wanted a baby. All my life I wanted to be a mama. I wanted to love and nurture and to watch something that was once inside of me nurture and grow.”

“Then why are you sad.”

“Because I don’t want a baby with my husband.” Something inside of Katya grows cold. This woman does not deserve to be going to her first OB exam alone. She deserves a loving partner who will diligently mark down all of the points that Katya makes to ensure Trixie’s welfare. She deserves the husband who will hold her hand through all the morning sickness and cry when he sees the first sonogram. She deserves a love to rival the ages and endure time. She deserves everything that Katya cannot give her and more.

Trixie deserves to want this baby.

“I know my husband will be a bad father. But what if this baby has a bad mother? They can’t afford that. What if I let them down?”

“Can I let you in on a secret?” Trixie’s face perks up a little, like a child who has been praised.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I trust you.”

“Okay.”

“My mother was married to a wonderful man. Truly a wonderful man. But I never met him. He died in a car crash before I was born. A week before my delivery.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I never knew him.”

“Well, I’m sorry nonetheless.”

“Either way, my mother resented me my entire life. She never loved me because she felt that I was the replacement for her one true love. I was what he left her with and I wasn’t enough.” Katya takes Trixie’s hands into her own. “I grew up neglected and unloved and hating myself because for some reason my mother, my flesh and blood, did not love me. I felt wrong. But still, I turned out okay. I get to save lives and to bring new life into the world. I get to work with mothers and fathers and babies and make sure they receive the love I never had.”

She looks deep into Trixie’s eyes. They’re a pretty shade of brown; a rich, dark umber.

“You love your baby. You want them. That is more than any child needs to be to grow up happy, to grow up strong. To grow up into a person you can be proud of. “

Trixie wipes a tear from her eyes as they begin to fall.

“You love your baby. What more can a child ask for?”

Trixie’s Pov

Trixie just stands there speechless for a second. This woman. In less than a hundred words has brought more solace to her heart than the countless that Gigi, Kim, Naomi, Sharon, all her closest friends have. It is like she has known Trixie forever and forever will. She understands Trixie. She understands her soul. To say there are cut from the same cloth is an understatement. They are not the same, but at their heart, at their core; the love that is there and binds them is the same. They are one in and the same in the sense that Katya sees her in a way that no one, not even Earl has ever seen her.

Something about this is different. Something that Trixie hasn’t felt before. Something that she wants to feel forever and ever and ever.

“You think I’ll be a good mama?”

“The best.” Katy wipes a tear from Trixie’s face and her hands linger for just a second too long.

“Now, here is a list of foods that you cannot eat.” It’s a long list, but the first thing that Trixie spots is coffee. Coffee. Shit. Trixie runs on a diet of coffee, pie, and whipped cream. It’s a miracle that she hasn’t swollen to the size of a whale.

“Coffee?”

“Especially coffee.”

“Darn, I love coffee.”

“Don’t we all.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Trixie reaches into her bag and pulls out a pie and a sweet aroma fills the air.

Katya’s Pov

“Oh fuck that smells good. “Katya thinks to herself. “It smells way too goddamn good.”

“This is the “Kim Needs To Have Caffeine but Fucking Hates Coffee So She Needs This pie.”

“That’s an interesting name.”

“Kim is my best friend. She hates coffee more than she hates our boss. I work at a pie diner and this is her favorite. It’s a chocolate crust with a coffee mousse and a toffee, caramel crunch made form coffee liqueur and sugar on top.”

“I am so, so sorry but I am trying to cut out sugar in my diet. I’m trying to live to a hundred.” Katya hopes that living to a hundred is as satisfying as the look on Trixie’s face is heart-wrenching. A sad smile slowly appears on her face.

“My momma used to say that if you cut out all the things that’ll make you live to a hundred, you’d be cutting out al the things that would actually make you want to live to be a hundred.”

“Huh.” Trixie’s got a point.

“I’ll be on my way now, but I’m leaving the pie just in case.”

“Oh you don’t have to, I’m sure your friend Kim would like it very much.”

“Don’t you worry about it, Katya. It’s a parting gift from me to you.”

“Oh, well thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” And with a smile that leaves Katya standing in her office for the next couple minutes.

The rest of Katya’s day goes by as normal (and she sees fucking Jennifer again), but all she can think about is Trixie. All she wants to do is think about Trixie. Trixie’s hair, Trixie’s eyes, brown and enchanting. Trixie’s face, welcoming and humble. Trixie’s lips, plumps, and supple. Trixie’s hips, curvaceous and tantalizing. Trixie’s thighs, creamy white, and lightly flushed. Trixie’s boobs AND KATYA, YOU ARE FUCKING MARRIED, YOU PERVERT. Katya physically slaps herself this time because apparently mentally slapping herself has not been working. She cannot be crushing on a patient. It is wrong, morally, ethically, and literally. Trixie is a vulnerable young woman and Katya should not be sexualizing her. But still, she can’t get Trixie’s face out of her head. Her beauty is almost ethereal, reminiscent of gods long dead and gone. She has magic, a wonder that courses through her veins and Katya cannot help but be called by it. Because that’s what Trixie does. Calls her. More importantly, the fucking pie is calling her. It’s been six hours since Trixie’s appointment and multiple other patients have since asked her if she burns candles, if her wife made her lunch or if she had baked a pie in the clinic. The scent that fills the room is creamy, rich, and wondrous. In short, Trixie.

Katya can’t stand this any fucking longer. She walks over to the end of the room and tastes the goddamn pie.

Oh my god.

OH MY GOD.

Katya is fucked.

This pie is so fucking good. The way that the flavors expose each other one at a time before combing in a perfect symphony in her mouth is near orgasmic. Of course, this pie is orgasmically good. Of motherfucking course. Katya is fucked. She has a crush on her slightly mentally unstable patient who has a beauty and a depth that is incomprehensible and who also happens to bake transcendently good pies. Katya is fucked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed Katy being a horny bastard. Please comment, it would mean the world. if I got any medicinal facts wrong, please don't roast me. I don't know much about medicine.


	7. When He Sees Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Chapter: Trixie Mattel is mentored  
> This Chapter: Trixie Mattel is the mentor

Trixie’s baking. She’s baking a pie. Though this honestly shouldn’t be a surprise because baking to Trixie is like breathing. However today, she bakes and she bakes and she bakes but dammit she can’t seem to breathe. Not with the memory of Katya’s eyes staring into her soul with a depth that it hasn’t felt in years. Not with the ghost of her touch gliding over Trixie’s cold chapped hands, warming them up in her grasp. Not with the heat that builds up in between her legs at the very thought of her arms. Her strong, robust arms that lifted Trixie from the depth of her despair and into a myriad of color. Trixie cannot stop thinking about Katya. It has been two weeks from the appointment and she has never been more grateful for the thickness of her foundation as it covers up her natural blush. Every time Kim mentions Katya all Trixie does is blush and nod and try not to make it too obvious that she imagines Katya instead of her husband during her moments of desperation in the shower.

There is something about Katya that is making Trixie beat eggs with a fervor that she has never possessed in her life. Not even as a teenager when Earl kissed her for the first time. But it’s not just arousal (though there is a shit ton of that), it’s something more. Something new. Something undiscovered. And something Trixie sure as hell wants to feel again.

“Trixie!” Kim’s voice suddenly goes from a distant blur to jarringly loud and Trixie jumps at the sound.

“Oh my god, Kim,” Trixie says shaking her head in disarray. “Why the fuck are you shouting?”

“Cos you ain’t fucking listening!”

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little out of it.”

“You’ve been ‘out of it’ for two weeks now, what is going on?!”

“Oh, nothing, just pregnancy brain.” Which isn’t a complete lie. Pregnancy has made Trixie infinitely horny.

“I should hope so.”

“Guys! Guys! Guys! Guys!” Gigi comes running in at a comically quick pace, almost tripping over her own feet.

“Oh lord,” Kim mutters.

“I signed up for tinder.”

“I highly suggest that you get off the platform. It doesn’t do anything but make you meet people who send weird pictures of their southern isles.” Naomi says and Trixie has to repress her laugh. The idea of Naomi, NAOMI of all people having tried tinder is hilarious.

“Hey, watch it.” Kim says in a quiet, almost hurt voice. “I met Bob through tinder.”

“Oh, honey.” Trixie engulfs Kim in her arms. Bob had a medical emergency a couple of nights ago. He has stopped breathing and his heart rate began to plummet and apparently he had suffered from an acute form of a panic attack. He’s in the hospital for further observation and Kim cannot be there. Something that is tearing her heart into pieces because for all his faults and for all his ailments, she does truly love Bob. She loves him and Trixie can tell she is hurting as she wipes the tears away from her eyes.

“Kim, Honey. It’s a slow day today. Not many customers. Earl has come and gone. Why don’t you sit yourself down and I’ll get you a slice of pie?”

“You made a new one again? I smelled something different coming out of the kitchen.”

“Yeah.”

“Oooo, what’s the name.”

“Uhhhhh.” Trixie cannot tell Kim that she has made an “I Want To Fuck My Doctor Because She’s So Fucking Hot” pie. A mashup between the raspberry cheesecake and the pie. Cubed cheesecake scatter freely across a graham cracker crust, baked in a raspberry custard, and topped with fresh raspberries and compote. It’s good, Trixie has tried. The last time Trixie had baked with raspberries, she had been making her wedding cake. A long, long time ago. The last time she had worked with them she had been in love. She cannot tell Kim that she’s feeling things she thought were dead. She cannot tell Kim that her emotions are forcing her to come alive again. So, she lies through her teeth.

“It don’t have a name yet.”

“What? You always name your pies.” 

“Well, you can name this one today.” Kim’s face instantly brightens. People love naming Trixie’s pies.

“I’m calling it The Kimmy.”

“Taste it first, honey,” Gigi says with a chuckle. “Taste it before you name a pie after yourself.”

Kim violently shoves the fork into the pie and bites into it with a previously unfound desperation.

“OH MY GOD!” Several customers turn their heads to face her. “This is really fucking good.”

“It is?” Trixie’s face lights up as Gigi picks up a fork and takes a more delicate bite the warranted reaction is equally ecstatic.

“Oh my lord, Trixie. This is good.”

“Yeah?”

“YES BITCH.” They say at the same time.

“I’ll have what she’s having.” A customer a couple of rows behind Kim says.

“Good choice, sir.” Kim grins. “So you will be ordering one “Love Pie”, will that that be all?” Trixie freezes. Love pie. LOVE PIE. SHIT. SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT.

“Kim?” Trixie asks nervously. “Why’d you call it that?”

“Didn’t you say I could name it?”

“Yeah, but why?”

“Oh, it just felt like it was made with love. Everything you make is filled with love, but there’s just something about this that makes me feel like I’m on my first date with Bob, ya know? You get what I’m saying, Gigi?

“Of course.” Gigi nods enthusiastically and Trixie sighs a breath of relief.

“So, Gigi,” Trixie says as Kim hustles into the kitchen to get a slice for the customer. “How’s tinder going?”

Gigi’s POV

How is tinder going? Well, that is an interesting question. Gigi most certainly did not spend hours coming up with a Bio and hobbies while her mother fretted anxiously. Gigi most certainly did not scroll through girls and boys for hours without being satiated. And Gigi most certainly did not go to bed crying because some rando texted her calling her an ‘ugly skeleton hoe’ after she refused his attempts at flirtation. Tears begin to well up in Gigi’s eyes and Trixie ever-observant immediately notices and pulls her into a tight hug.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Gigi says nothing and simply nuzzles her head into Trixie’s chest in an almost childlike manner. She had worn one of her favorite dresses in one of her pictures. A relatively short lacy blue garment that was sheer and very nearly showed her nipples. Shortly after, Gigi had received a flood of hatred from people who barely knew her favorite ice cream flavor, let alone who she was as a person. Gigi had never been bullied as a child, so she did not truly understand the depth of pain that words had. And the words were awful. So awful.

“You are a whore.”

“Slut.”

“Disgusting, your mother lets you wear that?”

“I wouldn’t date you but if I did and you showed that much skin I’d call you a skank and dumb yo ass.”

“No one is ever going to love you if you fucking dress like that.”

No one would ever love her. That one hurt. The fact that this thing that Gigi loved to do and would never trade for the world no matter what the world said would mean she was unlovable. Gigi liked clothes that showed her skin. She liked her body. She liked to feel like a woman. She was barely one but she liked the feeling of using sexuality as her power. Did that mean she was a whore? A slut? The sad thing, the truly pathetic thing, was that Gigi thought they were right. That she was a disgusting sight to see, flaunting her body at a moment’s notice. She had stared in the mirror for hours, naked; studying her body like it was an examination. Studying every curve, her edge, every bone. Everything that people deemed ugly. The one thing Gigi loved about herself, the one thing, had been stripped away from her. Gigi had felt disgusting. Like a slut. Like a whore. Like every word, those people had called her.

“Am I a whore?” Gigi asked through tears and a cold expression clouds over her face as she suddenly cups Gigi’s face in her hands.

“Don’t you ever say that again okay?” Gigi nods. “You are a beautiful, kind, talented young girl who dresses the way she wants and some people can’t handle that because they are fools. Do you hear me? Fools. You are not a whore. For Christ’s sake, you’re a virgin. And even you weren’t. Even if you had sex with every being that had a penis or a vagina, you would not be a whore. You would still be a kind, talented, sweet girl who deserves love. You hear me?”

“Yeah,” Gigi responds quietly.

“Say it after me. ‘Gigi Goode is beautiful, kind and talented.’” Gigi mumbled the words but this evidently does not satisfy Trixie.

“Louder.”

“Gigi Goode is beautiful, kind, and talented.”

“LOUDER!”

“GIGI GOODE IS BEAUTIFUL, KIND, AND TALENTED!”

“YES, GOOD GIRL.” Trixie kisses her cheek, pulling Gigi into a tight embrace, and Gigi can feel her tears dampening the top of her forehead.

Trixie is kind. That is the best way to describe her. Kind, giving, and warm. All the women at the diner are. All of them are warm and motherly and treat Gigi like their niece or their daughter. Even Naomi and Sharon. They are kinder, more patient with Gigi than with the others, and treat her like she is something to be treasured. They remind her that she is beautiful, she is kind and most importantly she is loved. They are her saving grace and without them, though she loves this job with her entire heart, Gigi would’ve been long gone.

Maybe it’s the pregnancy, but the girls are getting closer. They are bonding with their love for this potential life that is growing in Trixie’s womb day by day and day by day they try to do their best to love Trixie the best they can so this baby can flourish. Gigi loves children and she loves babies more than life itself. Had it not been for her love of designing clothing, she would’ve taught kindergarten. To be surrounded by children beaming with life and love, yearning to be coddled, and attended to. Something she will never tire of. So she makes a vow. Right then and there, in the arms of the woman who loves her just as much as her own mother that she will do everything in her power to love this baby and their mother with her entire being. Trixie deserves it. This baby deserves it. And Gigi deserves it. When she sees them, she will never ever, ever, ever stop loving them. That is the promise she makes.

“Trixie?”

“Yeah?”

“Have I told you that I love you?” Trixie is taken aback for a second before tears start welling up in her eyes.

“Oh, Gigi.” Trixie wipes her eyes. “You’re going to make this pregnant lady cry.

“Who’s making a pregnant lady cry?” Kim asks, confused.

“Oh don’t you worry about it,” Gigi laughs because Trixie’s emotional state is actually quite funny at times. “Just telling Trixie I love her.”

“Awwww.”

“Shut up, Kim.”

“Trixie’s going all soft.”

“Anyways, back to tinder, let me look through your account.”

The girls spend the next hour scrolling through countless men and women all of which who have no visual appeal or emotional appeal until this girl. This crazy, insane-looking girl. With a mousy shade of brown coating intoxicating curls and wild eyes.

“Crystal?” Kim scoffs. “You really sure you wanna go for a girl called Crystal? That’s a stripper’s name.”

“Oh hush, Kim. Love is love. If you wanna go for this Crystal chick instead of the other 78 people we’ve looked at, you do just that, my love.”

Gigi breathes in and hits the message button with a renewed courage. Gigi Goode is beautiful, kind, and talented. Gigi Goode is beautiful, kind, and talented. Gigi Goode is beautiful, kind, and talented. She can do this. She can do this. Gigi can do this.

“Hey, I’m Gigi.” She receives an instantaneous reply and there is an audible gasp that echoes throughout the diner.

“Hi, I’m Crystal.”

“So, I was thinking…”

“That you wanted to go on a date with me?”

“yes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Gigi leaves the diner with her hands glued to her phone texting Crystal like the phone is a lifeline while Kim and Trixie sigh in the background murmuring about young love. Crystal is different. Crystal is kind and good and she is funny. She is very, very, very funny. She makes Gigi laugh like nobody is watching. She makes Gigi feel fuzzy and warm and she makes Gigi forget about all her insecurities. She makes Gigi want to be a better person and she has barely known the woman for twelve hours.

This is the start of something new, something great.

And when she sees Crystal, she will want to again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this, this chapter took AGES.


	8. It only takes a taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Someone was a bitch to Gigi  
> This chapter: Someone is a bitch to Trixie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I just want y'all to know that I've tweaked the song just a little bit to make it a little more my style.

It’s a Thursday. Trixie loves Thursdays. On Thursday Earl doesn’t come home until Trixie is fast asleep and so she doesn’t have to see him for the rest of the day. She takes the bus home and as she sits by the bus stop she can’t help but feel unsettled by the events of the day. A whore. Gigi called herself a whore. Trixie saw in her eyes the desperate plea for help, begging Trixie to convince Gigi otherwise. This young girl who wore clothes that even strippers considered raunchy without a second thought had called herself a whore. Even the Trixie and Kim couldn’t protect Gigi form the harsh realities of the patriarchy. This carefree young girl had let the world infiltrate her boundless and talented mind and it breaks Trixie’s heart.

This is so wrong. Gigi should be able to walk around naked and feel comfortable because that is what she deserves. She is kind, loving and she is truly, a good girl. She treats Trixie like an aunt and loves her like one too, always walking into the diner with a smile that lights up the room instantly. Always eager to help and to love and to do everything with love and help. There is kindness to her, a kindness that very few people have and Gigi deserves the world. She deserves better than those cruel messages left to her on the phone. She deserves more than this simple country life. And as much as Trixie loves the diner, Gigi deserves to settle for nothing less than perfection.

Maybe that’s what the diner is for Gigi. Perfection. They’ve created a family there. Something irreplaceable, come rain or come shine.

“Trixie?” The familiar rasp of Katya’s voice echoes in her ears.

“Oh Katya, Hi.” Trixie shimmies over to give Katya room to sit next to her and she gratefully accepts.

“I’m sorry but that is this bag?”

“Oh, Bathilda?” Bathilda is a neon green snake print bag with dark burgundy feathers sticking out of the top and the handle, well Trixie doesn’t even know what the handle is supposed to be.

“You named it Bathilda?”

“It was a present from my wife.” Shit. All of Trixie’s fantasies in which Katya makes her scream on a medical table are immediately shoved in the bin. She has a wife. She’s married. Trixie has been actively lusting after a married woman. That’s bad. That’s really, really bad.

“Oh, how long have you been married?”

“Just shy of three years.”

“I’ve forgotten how long I’ve been married to Earl.”

There is a comfortable silence as the two just sit together, basking in the company of one another. It’s nice. Something about sitting next to Katya with nothing but the sound of wind and distant traffic filling air that feels right. Trixie turns to meet Katya’s eyes only to be greeted with a violent blush and Katya immediately ducking her head slightly to void her gaze.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just seeing you sitting here all by yourself in your uniform.” She pauses to take a deep breath, as if ready to tell Trixie an intricate story. It seems as if she might be.

“You remind me of a girl I once knew, by now she’s well into middle age. Probably forty-one, forty-two.”

“Wow, thank you.”

“Oh my god, nooooooo. Not at all. She was a waitress at this shop that I used to go to like so often and she would sneak me plates of pies and sweets and things I couldn’t afford at the time.” Katya sighs in fond remembrance.

“She was sweet to me. Reminds me of you.”

“Oh thank you, no one really ever notices me that way.”

“Well somebody must’ve right?”

“What?”

“You’re, you know, pregnant?” Katya lets out an awkward laugh.

Katya’s POV  
  


She’s fucking this up. She’s fucking this up. She’s fucking this up. Assumed things about her marriage, lusted after her, called her old, yada yada yada. This goddess incarnate has rendered Katya speechless and it is NOT working out in either of their favors.

“Anyways, she used to bake the pies there every day. All kinds and they were all pretty good. But damn if pies were books, yours would be Shakespeare’s fucking letters.” Katya lets out a dry laugh.

“I thought you were trying to cut off sugar.”

“I was. Until you gave me that pie.”

“That good, huh?”

“That good indeed.” This makes Trixie blush and smile. It’s adorable. Way too fucking adorable.

“I told my self I was only gonna take a bite, I instantly knew that I was done for. One bite and all I wanted to do was eat your pies for the rest of my life. That pie, with the coffee and the cream and the textures and the FLAVOR. It only took a taste and instantly all I wanted to know was how someone could make something that tasted that good.”

“My mama used to say you can tell the whole story with just a taste.”

“EXACTLY. It was EXACTLY like that. It was so, so, so good, Trixie. You are so talented.” Trixie lets out a small gasp. Small barely audible. Maybe she hasn’t been told that in a while. Either way, she deserves to be told that every fucking day. She is talented, beautiful, intoxicating. Every adjective in the world should be showered on Trixie and Katya is more than happy to do so because Trixie deserves it. She deserves it.

Trixie’s POV

The last person who told her that was Earl. Sitting on top of the bleachers after a football game when he tasted her I Put Lemon In This So It’s Bound To Taste Good Pie. A kiwi lemon concoction that is still a fan favorite to this day. He had taken a bite and his eyes lit up the way Katya’s have right now and he looked her dead in the eye and told her she was talented. This was over 15 years ago. When Trixie was a child, unaware of all the anger a violence that hid behind that eye. All the pain it had to potential to cause her, all the hurting that she would feel. All she felt was love and loving. All she had felt was blind, unwavering trust. How stupid she had been. And with that thought Trixie bursts into tears.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry.” Katya immediately rushes to pull tissues out of her bag and hands them to Trixie with a comical fervor.

“No, no, no, it’s not you.” Trixie laughs brokenly. “It’s me, I promise. Just pregnancy brain.”

“I’m a doctor, Trixie. Tell me what’s wrong.” Katya takes a hold of her hands. Hers are warm and calloused and slightly clammy but Trixie loves the feel of them. She loves how big they are and how they can envelop her own in a tight embrace that never fails to make her feel protected. She feels protected by Katya. Like nobody, not even Earl can hurt her. Like she is safe. Like she can let down her guard. Like Katya will die before she hurts her. She feels something new and something old at the same time. Love? Hate? She doesn’t know what it is, and she’d be lying if she said that wasn’t killing her.

“I met my husband in high school. Young, very young. And we had that kind of romance that you see on movie screens and wish you had. He would write me poems, shit ones, grant you, but poems none the less. Songs, books, screenplays. He would dedicate them all to me. He used to tell me I was beautiful. Amazing. Talented. Now all he calls me is a pain in the ass who never gets anything right. All he does it hurt me and hurt me and I let him. I never stop letting him hurt me. I go work with bruises on my skin and bruises in my heart and I still let him do it. I let him scream obscenities in my face and throw me onto the floor and I can’t leave him cos I’m not financially stable enough. I can’t lend money form anyone because my stupid pride won’t let me. So I let him hurt me. Again and again and again and he’s going to be hurting me until the day I die.”

“I’m so sorry, Trixie.”

“I love him, I really do. I just love a version of him that is dead and gone.”

“Oh Trixie, I’m so, so sorry. I really wish there was something I could say- “

“You don’t need to say nothing, just stay here and told my hand.”

And that’s what they do, for the next five minutes Katya just sits close to Trixie and holds her hand rubbing her thumb over the top gently with all the love in the world. Her presence feels more comforting than Earl’s sweaty body heaving on top of her ever has. It feels more right than Earl’s kisses, hugs, and words of love ever have. Even when it was still good. It just feels right.

“Thank you,” Trixie says, wiping the tears away from her eyes. “Thanks for listening to me.”

“Trixie, if he continues to hurt you- “

“I can’t give birth to my baby alone, Katya. I need someone, even if it’s just Earl, there with me. I can’t live with my husband in jail. I need his financial income just to make sure that I still have a roof to live under.”

“Move in with me.”

“What?”

“I have a wife; her name is Violet. She’s a bit much, but eventually, she will grow to understand. I have a spare room, a nursery that your baby can use since Violet never wanted one anyway and lots of love to give. Please, please let me help you.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why, please let me do this Trixie.”

“I won’t be a home breaker. I’ve seen what happens when another woman moves into a happy household. My mother was the other woman and my father still beat her senseless.”

“I would never, ever hurt you.”

“But I don’t want your wife to suffer, the woman who my father was once married to loved him. Truly loved him, and he took Adeline for granted. And Adeline hated my mother, she hated her so much. She hated me more. I was the reason that my father chose my mother instead of her. So when they left me alone at home she would say the most horrible things to me. Things that a child should never have to hear. My mother broke what had a chance of being a happy family. I’m not doing the same to yours.”

“I’m sorry, Trixie. I’m sorry life has hurt you so much. And if I could, I would take all the pain that you have ever felt and bear it instead. I don’t know why but seeing you hurt makes me want to move mountains.”

“You don’t have to. You just have to stay by my side.”

“I’m not leaving you. Not unless you want me to.” Katya stares into Trixie’s eyes and it’s like the universes are colliding. Trixie wants to kiss her so badly.

Katya’s POV

Katya wants to kiss her. She wants to kiss her so badly. Trixie deserves the world, not a husband who treats her like crap. Not a life that treats her like crap. Not a world that treats her like crap. She deserves to live a life of white picket fences and aprons and to bake in a kitchen the size of her apartment until her heart and stomach is content. She deserves to be loved the way Katya and Violet once loved each other, wholly and recklessly. She deserves so much more than this. And right now what she deserves is to be kissed like the world is ending. Like there is nothing left in the world and all that is left is Katya and Trixie. If the world blew and up everything ended with Katya was left staring into Trixie’s eyes, the only regret she would have is not kissing her.

“This is my number.” Katya hands Trixie a piece of card. “Call me if you ever, ever need a friend.”

“Not if I need a doctor?”

“Both.”

“Okay.” A bus arrives and Trixie suddenly gets up, much to Katya’s dismay. “This is my bus.”

“Oh, I hope you have a safe trip.”

“Thank you. So much.”

“You can tell me anything, you can trust me.”

“I’ve known you for two hours and I feel like I can trust you with my life.”

And as quickly as she came, she is gone.

Katya is fucked. Not because Katya has a crush on Trixie but because she is in love with Trixie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I would love a comment. it makes me kinda sad when I see no comments, so please leave one. it would mean a lot.


	9. You will still be mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last chapter: Katya makes Trixie feels safe  
> this chapter: Earl makes Trixie realize she isn't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter that I've stalled for ages, but I hope that y'all enjoy it.

Trixie lives in a nice place. It’s cozy, pastel, Easter egg yellow walls with the scent of whiskey and pie lingering in the air. It’s well furnished and there is a sense of home that comes with it. A love. Trixie’s mama had died in this house. She had moved in with Trixie and Earl when the cancer arrived and despite Earl's constant protesting, she continued to care for her mama. Back then, their marriage was new. Trixie still had a fighting chance at living a meaningful life. Of course, she thought for her mama. She had loved her mama so much. It had hurt to see the woman, so full of life, so full of joy and life in a state of agony and near-paralysis. It hurt to see such a lively woman who used her hands to create a wondrous world of sugar, butter, and flour for Trixie so still. More painful than the reality that her mother had spent years protecting her from.

Her mama. That’s all Trixie can think about. Maybe it’s because Trixie is going to become one. She was a kind woman. Though the world was never once kind to her, she was always kind. Always. To the neighbors that snickered behind her back and called her the town whore. To the teachers who chastised her for failing to pick up her daughter from school on time due to the multiple jobs that she took on to make ends meet. To Trixie when her daughter lashed out after months and months of being bullied for her family life. Even to her husband’s ex-wife, who made her and Trixie’s life a living hell. She was kind to them all.

Platinum blonde hair contrasting her creamy freckled skin and eyes the color earth, Trixie is her spitting image. She’s grateful actually, her mama is (or rather was) a beautiful woman, the envy of many men much to her father’s disdain. No, but Trixie is mainly grateful to look like her mother because she doesn’t think that she could stand looking at her father’s face every time she stared into a mirror. She cannot look into eyes that belong to a drunk domestic abuser.

But sometimes she will absentmindedly pass the mirror in a hurry and sometimes her mama’s face will appear instead of her own, pulling at Trixie’s heart. It hurts. To see a woman who did everything she could for you, come rain or shine, in your reflection. When she sees the bruises and black eyes on her face, she sees her mama. She sees her mama’s mascara streaked and well-beaten face. It hurts. But it’s better than having her father’s face.

Maybe that’s why she married Earl. Men like her father are the only kind she knows. She was bound to get stuck with one.

“Trixie?” Slurred, drunken speech interrupts Trixie’s train of thoughts. “TRIXIE!”

“Earl? You’re back home early.”

“I was fired. Something bout incompetence, can you believe the assholes?”

Fired? They need Earl’s salary. They can barely survive right now, especially not with his ludicrous spending habits and the debts that they owe. They need it desperately, especially now with the baby coming along. Trixie is fucked, she is so fucked.

“Well don’t just sit there, bring me something to eat! I’ve had a fucking shitty day.”

“I-I didn’t cook.”

“WHAT? WHAT KIND OF FUCKING WIFE ARE YOU?! I swear all I want is a dinner and a nice welcome from my wife and what I am owed as a husband. I am a real good guy, ya know? I only hit you when you make me angry, you know you make me angry. It’s not my fault you make me angry. I let it slide that you work in a dumpster and that you’re a fucking prude. I’m a real fucking good husband, so why can’t you just be a damn good wife?!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were coming home. You normally get dinner with the boys and- “

“That don’t mean SHIT. Trixie, you’re making me mad again.” His voice drops dangerously low as he begins to walk menacingly towards Trixie.

“Earl-“

“Don’t be making NO EXCUSES NOW. YOU’RE TRYING TO MAKE ME ANGRY.” He holds up a fist and it is as if time dilates.

He can’t hit Trixie. No, he can’t hurt the baby. She needs this baby to be okay. She can’t let him hurt the baby, She can’t. She doesn’t even care about his anger. If there is a chance, even a chance that is barely there, that she can save her baby, she is taking it. This baby has been in her life for three weeks and she would already give her life for them.

“Trixie, DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE RUN FROM ME. GET YOUR-“

“Earl I’m pregnant!”

He stops in his tracks, hand frozen in midair. The rage in his eyes only burning brighter as he brings his clenched fist down. He’s not going to hurt Trixie.

“What?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“If you’re fucking with me…”

“I’m not. I’ve taken like ten tests, I’m pregnant.”

“When were you going to fucking tell me?!”

“I wanted to, but I was waiting for the right moment-“

“There ain’t no right moment, you should have told me the damn second you got that result.”

“I-I-” Trixie gives up, defeated. She’s tired of fighting, it’s easier this way. “I’m sorry Earl.”

“Don’t you ever keep a secret from me again.”

“Okay.”

Earl sighs, pressing his palm to his face.

“Trixie?”

“Yes?”

“Promise me something.”

“What?”

“Promise me you won’t love this baby more than me.”

“Earl, I can’t promise that.”

“Then get out of my house, get out from under my roof. What kind of wife loves a baby more than the man she has spent most of her life with? What kind of woman chooses some kid over years and years of history? WHAT KIND- “

“OKAY. Okay. I promise.” No, she doesn’t. She would gladly run Earl over with a train for this baby. Frankly, she’d run Earl over any day of the week just for the hell of it.

“Say it.”

Trixie takes a couple of deep breaths. She can lie for this baby. She can do it. She can lie so that this baby has a chance at a good life. Not a happy one, but a better one than she did. She can do this. She can do this.

“I promise I will love you more than this baby.” The words taste sour in Trixie’s mouth and she resists the urge to vomit. And this time it’s not because of morning sickness.

“Good girl.”

“Now, go fix me something to eat.”

“I have some leftover pie.”

“I eat pie every fucking day, honestly.”

Trixie deals with Earl being a little bitch every fucking day but she doesn’t complain. But at least her baby is safe in her womb. Nothing can hurt them, and nothing ever will. They are safe in her body and they are safe in her embrace. They always will be.

“Hey, Trixie?”

“What was the name of that song I used to sing to you all the time? Back in high school when we were young. What was it?”

“You will still be mine?”

“Yeah, you loved that one. I used to sing this one lyric every night. I remember. I was this hot jock who all the girls were pissing themselves for, clean-shaven and athletic as fuck. I was hot wasn’t I, Trixie?”

“Yes, Earl.” Trixie hopes that she doesn’t sound as soulless as she feels when she preheats the microwave.

“You, well you were doing whatever the fuck you were doing.”

“I was baking.”

“Baking, always fucking baking. It’s the reason I’m not as hot as I was before.”

“What was that lyric?”

Trixie bites her lips. She remembers this lyric. She remembers a time when they were young and naïve and reckless and love. When words and hands were used to caress and love not used as weapons. When Earl’s kisses were what she craved not treaded. When his voice brought comfort and not fear.

“Till’ the sun don’t shine.” She has to stop her voice from cracking. “You will still be mine.”

“That’s right.”

“I loved that song.”

“I hated it, it was cheesy as fuck.”

“Oh.”

“But it did get one thing right.”

“Oh?”

“You are mine. You are my wife. You belong to me. Not to some baby. You are mine.”

“Yes. I belong to you.”

She does. She belongs to Earl. Not to herself, not to the diner, not to Katya. Everything that she is and ever will be, belongs to Earl because of a stupid promise she made when she was twenty. If she had known she was destined to live out the life her mama always wanted her to escape from, she would’ve run. She would’ve run so fast and so far away. She wouldn’t have let this happen to her. This slow, painful decay of all the hope that her mama instilled in her. The true death of her mother, the death of her values. Because even in their biggest fights, her mama never submitted to her father. No matter how black and blue she was beaten. She never submitted. But Trixie has. Trixie has submitted. Maybe she saw what happened when you didn’t. What she didn’t know is no matter how much you grovel, no matter how much of your soul dies, you can never protect yourself from the true evil that lives inside people like Earl.

She belongs to him now. Financially, physically or emotionally, she isn’t dependent on him. But she has never known a life without a man like Earl in it. She has never known a life without a man like her father in it. And she’s afraid. She’s afraid of what it means to be independent. To be free. To be untethered. To not belong to somebody. She wants to find out so badly, she does.

With Katya, that’s what it feels like. Free. Trixie has no obligation to do anything unless she wants to. She feels light, like she is weightless and floating above the ground. People say the person who you love the most in the world grounds you, but Trixie doesn’t want to be grounded. She wants to fly, she wants to soar above the ground and into the sky. She wants to be free. To be with Katya. She wants to escape the hell that she has created with Earl and into the heaven that she feels with Katya. Katya makes her feel free, like the shackles that Earl has chained her with are incapable of hurting her, ever. Maybe that is what love is, not grounding, but safety, Because Katya sure as hell makes her feel safe. She wants to be with Katya. She wants to feel all the invincible emotions that come with being with Katya.

But she can’t.

The things we want aren’t always the things we get.

That was the last lesson that her mama taught her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did y'all like that, cos this was super daunting to write. Go forth and leave a comment.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all liked that. I hope you enjoy the rest of this shitpost.


End file.
